Page 50

“Ah, good morning, Mr. Darcy,” Mr. Collins said, wrenching his attention from the fat tome of Shakespeare’s works in his hands.

“Good morning, Mr. Collins,” Darcy replied with a mixture of unease and rabid curiosity. “I hope that you are feeling better today?”

Collins frowned thoughtfully, “Yes, better. My head still hurts, as does my ankle, but the degree of discomfort has diminished. I am grateful for that. I confess to being displeased with this library, sir. It is pathetic.”

Darcy pursed his lips to prevent a smile. He was also entirely unimpressed with the library at Netherfield, but of course he did not share his disparaging thoughts with Bingley. Thankfully, his friend was pottering about in the drawing room after a late and leisurely breakfast and thus was not available to hear the disgust in the parson’s tone.

“Yes, my friend Bingley is not a great reader,” Darcy agreed. “Not that he despises reading or readers. He simply has other interests. I do intend to travel to Meryton tomorrow morning in search of additional works.”

“Excellent! I wonder if you might be willing to search for any contemporary histories of Richard III. I am most curious as to the truth behind the man, so to speak.”

Darcy lifted surprised eyebrows, “A rather depressing focus of your curiosity, surely? Richard III is rightly reviled for the murder of his own nephews so that he could snatch the throne from his brother’s eldest son, Edward V.”

Collins leaned back in his chair and shook his head, “I rather doubt that Richard was responsible for the disappearance of the two princes in the Tower of London, Mr. Darcy. It no doubt makes a good play, and of course Shakespeare was writing under a Tudor queen, but I think it quite likely that Queen Elizabeth’s grandfather, Henry VII, actually murdered the boys.”

Darcy gazed blankly at the rector and shook his head to clear it, “What?”

The clergyman sighed, “I studied Henry VII while at Cambridge, Mr. Darcy. He made quite a point of imprisoning and killing all the possible heirs to Edward IV, Richard’s brother and the former king. Again, Shakespeare’s play is a brilliant one, and very powerful, but I doubt it has much to do with the actual history of the matter.”

Pemberley’s master frowned intensely, seeking buried information in the recesses of his mind, “Thomas More, who was martyred under Henry VIII, wrote a book about Richard III, I believe. It was that book which was the basis of Shakespeare’s play. More was, by all accounts, an honorable man.”

“More was also, let me see … he was five years of age when Richard III ascended to the throne, and only eight when Henry VII killed Richard and took the English throne. He was a child, sir. More’s history of Richard III was no doubt molded by the information meted out by the Tudor kings who succeeded Richard.”

Darcy worked to keep his mouth from hanging open, “How can you possibly know More’s age at the time of Richard’s reign?”

“I can do sums,” the other man pointed out in bewilderment. “It is hardly a difficult thing when one knows the years spanning a man’s life and death.”

“But how do you know the years?”

“As I said, Mr. Darcy, I read up on Henry VII and his various contemporaries while at Cambridge for research …”

The man’s face suddenly grew blank and his eyes piteous. “You will not tell Mr. Collins, I hope? Please?”

“Mr. Collins?” Darcy asked worriedly. “Which Mr. Collins?”

“My father,” Collins replied, seeming to shrink into himself. “He … he hates that I read, that I learn. He will, he will …”

“He will do nothing,” a new voice announced from just inside the library door. “Your father died several years ago, Cousin. You do not need to be alarmed.”

Collins jerked in surprise and turned, “Cousin Bennet! I did not see you there.”

“My apologies, Mr. Collins, Mr. Darcy. I was going to announce myself, but your discussion was of such interest that I listened for a few minutes.”

Darcy did not pretend to be astute at analyzing the expression of his fellow human beings, but he could see, in the slightly dilated eyes of Mr. Bennet, that the man was totally flummoxed.

“Do you have any histories of Richard III in your library?” Collins demanded, his countenance shifting from alarmed to obsessed in a moment.

“I do not believe I do, Cousin,” Bennet replied solemnly. “I have some more general histories, but not a specific biography of the man.”

“Disappointing,” Collins replied, turning his attention back to the book in his hands.

“Sir?”

All three men turned toward the door, where a maid stood inside, “Mr. Collins, Mr. Jones is here to examine you, sir.”

“I am reading,” Collins pointed out indignantly.

“You can read later,” Darcy proposed in a soothing tone. “Come, Mr. Collins, you must let the apothecary examine you. After that, you can read.”

“Very well,” the man murmured sadly, struggling to his feet. Darcy followed him out of the room, ensuring that he was assigned to a footman standing nearby. Given Collins’s lack of focus, it was entirely possible the clergyman would wander off to the kitchens unless guided back to his bedroom.

When Darcy returned to the library, he found Miss Elizabeth’s father seated in a chair by the fire, his expression dazed.

“I presume that you are as startled as I am at your cousin’s demeanor?” he asked the older man.

“More so, Mr. Darcy, more so. I doubt you even met Mr. Collins before his injury; let me assure you that my cousin used to be an obsequious, toadying, fawning, sycophantic, absurdity of a man. This man, well, his appearance and voice are the same, but I assure you that save for that, I would think him an entirely different individual.”

Darcy took a seat across from Mr. Bennet, “I did not know Mr. Collins before his fall, but I know my aunt, Lady Catherine de Bourgh, very well indeed. She allows only one kind of man to serve as rector of Hunsford. A brilliant, blunt man like Collins is the last man on earth she would appoint to that office. So I am quite aware he is much changed.”

“Elizabeth and Jane told me of his alteration and used the word ‘brilliant’ about Collins, but I confess I laughed it off. I thought him a complete fool, to be truthful. I am amazed, sir.”

“I am as well,” Darcy agreed, shaking his head in wonder. “It would be startling enough for Collins to remember what he reads with such incredible ease, but it is more than that; he is clearly able to pull disparate pieces of information from his reading and come to a reasonable conclusion, or at least a reasonable argument. I admit it is hard for me to believe that Richard III is innocent of the murders of his nephews, but Collins provided sufficient data to provoke some doubt on the matter. Not that it is of vital concern what happened to a king hundreds of years ago, but Mr. Collins’s scholarly ability cannot be denied.”

Bennet sighed ruefully, “I agree. It is ironic that now that he might be a worthy son-in-law, he is apparently determined not to marry my Lizzy, or at least so she informed me.”

Darcy’s chest thumped oddly at these words. It hardly mattered whom Miss Elizabeth married. She must marry someone, after all, or face poverty. But … but ...

“Your Miss Elizabeth is most intriguing,” he stated, earning a puzzled look from Mr. Bennet.

Clearing his throat, Darcy changed the subject, “To be clear, sir, Mr. Collins merely stated that he would not offer for your second daughter because Miss Elizabeth would intensely dislike being under the direction of Lady Catherine. I cannot argue with that conclusion, sir. It would take either a supremely submissive or supremely practical woman to survive under my aunt’s haughty authority. She is not a gracious or kindly woman, my aunt.”

Bennet stared out the window for a long moment before replying, “How do you suppose Lady Catherine will respond to Mr. Collins’s change of demeanor, assuming that his current persona remains in force?”

Darcy compressed his lips, “She will not be pleased at all, sir.”

Bennet sighed, “At any rate, she cannot dislodge him from Hunsford. The living is a lifetime appointment.”

“Yes …”

“You are uneasy, Mr. Darcy? May I ask why?”

“Mr. Collins speaks of another Mr. Collins at times.”

“His father?”

“No, himself. His ‘other self’. If my aunt were sufficiently determined, she might be able to have him committed to Bedlam if, that is, Mr. Collins continues to speak in such an odd way. Lady Catherine is sister to an earl, and the Matlocks have great influence.”

“But you do not believe him insane, do you, Mr. Darcy?”

“I do not. I believe him to be an absolutely brilliant man who was abused by his father and by necessity submerged his genius. But I assure you that my aunt will have no appreciation for such a thing.”

Bennet bit his lip, “I confess to no great attachment to Mr. Collins, but I would not care to see him in Bedlam.”

“No, sir,” Darcy agreed. “It would be cruel and dreadful.”